| Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies
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| Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain
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| For we’ve received orders for to sail for old England
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| And we may never see you fair ladies again
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| We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors
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| We’ll rant and we’ll roar all on the salt seas
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| Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England
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| From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues
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| We hove our ship to, with the wind from sou’west, boys
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| We hove our ship to, deep soundings to take
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| 'Tis forty-five fathoms with a white sandy bottom
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| So we squared our main yard and up channel did steer
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| We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors
|
| We’ll rant and we’ll roar all on the salt seas
|
| Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England
|
| From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues
|
| Now let every man drink off his full bumper
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| And let every man drink off his full glass
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| We’ll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy
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| And here’s to the health of each true-hearted lass!
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| We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors
|
| We’ll rant and we’ll roar all on the salt seas
|
| Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England
|
| From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues |